Getting Warhammered [WH 40k Fanfic]

This is getting kinda exciting. I had to restrain myself from bouncing about as my expectations for what lay ahead ran high. Alas, two metre tall supersoldiers wearing half a ton of power armour usually didn’t strut around with a bounce in their steps like schoolgirls who just got their first kiss.

As for why I was getting excited? Well, the Warp was churning like an angry soup of boiling waste right beneath the veil and I could tell it wouldn’t be long before Daemons started to push themselves through. With goldie behind me, a hundred strong squad of Salamanders and good old Trazyn already here, throwing in a bunch of what felt like Khornite Daemons was just going to be the icing on the cake.

Or in simple terms: Shit was about to go down, and when it did, it would be going down hard. The best part was that I didn’t have to fear Khornite Daemons trying to play mind games with me, trying to trick me into getting captured or some such like I would have to with just about every other faction. They will just try to kill me, simple and easy. A bit like the Orks … am I losing my mind or am I really starting to like those dumb murderous mushrooms? Hmmmm. 

[Simulations for cognitive and mental readiness show a 15.221% improvement at the moment when compared to before coming across the Ork named Throgg.]

And how reliable are those? I rolled my eyes. Plus a bunch of other things happened in that timeframe … like I got more than a few opportunities to relax.

[The primary reason is highly likely to be just that. Relaxation is important for mental health.]

[It matters not whether that relaxation comes from interacting with simple creatures that don’t require mind games and mental gymnastics to speak with or from indulging your carnal desires.]

I rolled my eyes again. My mind-cores could be so smart and yet so stupid at the same time. Really, they were similar to early AI models, just with far more computational power. I’m pretty sure not having Guilliman’s flaming sword hanging over my head and going on regular, innocent dates with Selene did far more for my mental calm than a bunch of Orks or ‘indulging my carnal desires’.

[Perhaps. Do you wish to run simulations to check?]

No, get back to working on something useful. I bit back. How is my Emissary-sourced sword coming along anyway?

[Initial template is ready for construction, though the cost is prohibitive and as such deemed a failure.]

Define ‘prohibitive’. 

[Consuming your current top of the line Psyker Form would only provide enough bio-energy to make a downsized dagger out of the material.]

Damn. 

[Indeed. Optimisation loops are currently running on all free mind-cores.]

Nah, fuck that. It’ll do. I shrugged inwardly. I had bio-energy in spades and would only be getting more and more as time went on and I got my initial Ork farm started near eventual base. Even just what I had going on at the moment, consuming Orks that died of natural causes. Like the rare ‘bullet-in-brain disease’. A terrible sickness, that one.

[Acknowledged. Do you wish to proceed with the next items on the list?]

Give me a reminder, what did I have on The List again?

[ 1.: Deciphering the Pariah Gene; 2.: Deciphering the Hrud Gene; 3.: Constructing viable weapon designs out of the new templates gained from the Primarch’s gene library … ]

It went on and on for another minute before we came to the last item, which was some long forgotten project about learning how to extract memories from dead brains correctly. Let’s just leave that one over at the end. Hmmm.

I promised Zedev an upgrade to his fleshy bits when he swore to serve me, didn’t I? Get a template for that done first. Then let’s go with … try to come up with a material I can make using minimal bio-energy that would work well as the material of my eventual base. Then do the same for a material that would work for Void Ships. Afterwards you can jump back to the original list and continue from where you left off.

[Acknowledged. Proceeding … item #1 is complete. Proceeding to the next item … ]

I blinked in surprise as a streamlined template that would give a soft update to Zedev go unceremoniously dumped in my mind. That was quick, but then again, his fleshy bits were 80% human, 15% cancer and 5% heavy drugs so his makeup wasn’t all that complicated. I’ll do the updates once I’m done here … maybe I could give something to Bob too, he’s been looking hella lost lately. 

Also, run a test and see whether I should do away with some of the levity I’m treating this situation with. I ordered, thinking that maybe the Ork’s aversion to taking anything at all seriously was rubbing off on me in a way I didn’t notice.

[The greatest threat to you is still a Shadowkeeper kill team teleporting on top of you. We have no current ways to predict, divert or disrupt their teleportation and neither are you defences strong enough to defend against their energy-spears]

[The second largest threat to your existence is likely a scheme of the God of Change or one of its servants.]

[The threats currently known to us do not deserve much fear, but the threat of the two mentioned above should more than deserve you taking even this situation seriously.]

Hmmm. That is true I suppose. I cycled some soul energy through my bones and had them linger there. That should be enough to throw up some quick protections.

Glancing back at the Custodian, just to make sure his instincts didn’t somehow detect what I’d just done, I also went about layering some protections over the insides of my skull. That was where I usually kept my eldritch flesh, so the skull was the most vital part of my avatars.

I gave a mental nod once I was done, not even the Swarmlord’s sword could cut through the shielding I now had on my head. The Emissary would have managed, but that guy was a bit of an outlier. Its sword was up there in pure physical properties with the Emperor’s sword I’d wager.

It obviously lacked the flaming sword’s more mystical and magical qualities, but that was whatever. I had a trusty staff for anything to do with ‘magic’, even if I’d been leaving the poor thing to gather dust lately.

In my defence, there was nothing powerful enough that warranted summoning it.

“We have reached the first trial!” The captain shouted as we came to a stop before yet another titanic door seemingly carved out of black granite. 

Whoever designed the place certainly had a feel for the theatrics. The way the simmering magma streamed down near the walls and how it cast long shadows over the protruding carvings on the door was majestic in a ‘these are the gates of hell’ sort of way.

“I like the decor,” I mentioned to Trazyn, though my eyes roamed over the surroundings with a wariness that wasn’t there before. 

“It is indeed quite … majestic,” Trazyn said. “In a primitive sort of way. Just about what I was expecting.”

“Do you think these ‘trials’ of theirs will take long?”

“Perhaps,” he said, a shrug somehow coming through his voice. “I have only minimal knowledge of the intricacies and specifics of their prophecies and such. But it shouldn’t take long. Their Primarch wasn’t known to be one for overlong meandering.”

Trazyn turned out to be correct, it barely took five minutes for the Salamanders to solve whatever the trial was. The titanic doors split in the middle and slowly slid apart, accompanied by the tortured sound of a thousand tons of granite dragged over the stone floor.

The cavernous room revealed was beyond anything I would have expected. ‘Room’ didn’t do it justice. I could have parked my fake Cruiser in between the titanic pillars holding up the ceiling, and a dozen other copies of it for that matter. 

Down below the rovers of magma flowed languidly, illuminating the entire cavern with that dim red light from before. The path we were taking thinned and ended a bit after the door in a sheer cliff, after which a hundred metre drop would land us in a pool of lava. Magma. It is called lava only once it’s outside the volcano … I think.

There was a path leading down though, a tiny little stairway slithering down along the wall. It was a bit too small for a space marine in full power armour, and it certainly had nothing in the way of guardrails and handholds.

“Advance,” the captain ordered. “Squad one move first, test every step for collapse and bolt the support beams into the walls as you go. Questions? No? Good. Move out.”

‘Squad one’ moved forward, all sporting large packs and bundled up corded wire ropes along with two large rifles that looked like gigantic nail guns.

They were all connected together at the hip by that corder rope, the first marine being some sort of a stress tester with the one behind him being the one with the first giant nail gun.

I watched them go, they were careful at first but got bolder with each step that didn’t send one of them into the depth.

The nail-marine pressed the barrel of his weapon up against the wall and fired. The gun itself let out only a sharp whistle as pressurised air discharged a nail, but the granite wall getting torn a new asshole shrieked like a pig getting slaughtered.

Still, the bolt was in, leaving only a metal hook poking out of the wall onto which they quickly secured the corded rope before moving on. On every third step of the stairwell, they shot in another bolt.

“Secure yourselves to the cord and go!” The captain ordered. “Second squad, you are up!”

Marine after marine stepped onto the granite stairs carved out of the wall, squished up against the walls. Honestly, it was a bit comical seeing the giant armoured supersoldiers cling to the wall like a bunch of scared children.

Not that they were themselves scared, but they certainly looked it with how tightly they clutched the corded rope. Understandably too, since if any of them fell, their weight would have sunk them down to the bottom of the magma lake below.

Then at last, it was my time to go. “How will you follow?”

“After you,” Trazyn said nonchalantly. “I need no securing, nor will they notice me.”

“What about him?” I motioned to the Custodian still standing guard next to the door.

“He didn’t notice us till now,” Trazyn shrugged. “I sincerely doubt it’ll change.”

“Why don’t we just go forward,” I offered. “I could fly us down, or to anywhere in this cavern.”

“Truly?” Trazyn hummed, though I guessed it was mostly for show. Necrons no doubt developed personal anti-gravity tech that would allow him some flight capabilities too. “Would you wager he’d be quick enough to stop you if he noticed something out of place? Like you flying off per say?”

“Perhaps,” I said evenly. “Though I doubt he has any ranged weaponry worth noting. He’ll be left behind stewing in his failure. Again.”

“Again?”

“Why do you think he is so salty?” I shrugged.

“Let us do that then,” Trazyn said. “I am in no mood to hike a dozen miles on those stairs if I can help it. We can explore the cavern in the meantime while we wait for them to get down and show us the way.”

*****

Octavian

Focus, discipline and loyalty were some of the main aspects that were at the core of Octavian’s being. His will never faltered, his focus never waned and his loyalty was impossible to question. These were the characteristics of any Custodes, along with their superhuman physical and combat prowess that could only be eclipsed by a Primarch.

They stood guard for centuries over the Emperor without as much as a twitch in their facial muscles, so when a familiar prickling sensation Octavian came to associate with his instincts going haywire he didn’t hesitate to act upon them.

He whirled around, guardian spear levelled at the target his instincts were warning about. He didn’t hesitate even seeing that it was a Salamander, the one that he recognised as the marine who came to talk to him.

Unfortunately for Octavian, his spear was baseline, outfitted not with a melta or an adrathic disintegration beamer, but with a regular heavy bolter. Still, he fired.

His aim was true, and at this distance it was impossible to miss and yet the bolt flew wide. Unperturbed, Octavian rushed forward with his spear levelled at the marine as he once more squeezed the trigger. 

Regular people couldn’t even see a Custodian in motion, even marines would have trouble even keeping their eyes on Octavian with how hard he pushed himself at that moment.

Three more bolts flew wide, then the fourth struck true just as the marine turned towards him. 

Not giving his foe any room to breathe, Octavian was upon him with his spear piercing him all the way through.

A nanosecond later, his brain caught up with him, analysed the data his senses were catching and concluded one thing: the power armour he had impaled was empty.

His instincts lit up, and he kicked the shell into the distance and off the cliff. It didn’t get even three metres away from him before it exploded in a white flash of heat and shrapnel.

Octavian ignored it, trusting his auramite armour to protect him, and rightly so. Not a single shrapnel even scratched him.

He stared at the receding white arcs of energy, his eyes making out a small contour behind it.

His spear came up once more, but an invisible force held his finger from squeezing the trigger once more. He caught a faint smirk and flowing white hair, and then the contour was gone, along with the force holding Octavian’s finger.

He shot out six bolts in an array, letting them explode around where the form disappeared. Then he stopped, he had a faint urge to keep shooting or to smash his fist into the wall but he crushed it effortlessly.

There was no point, his target was gone. Being wasteful with his limited ammunition would be contradictory to his goals.

Still, his fist tightened around the spear’s handle. 

She is here. 

Without even thinking about going back to guard the entryway, Octavian kicked off the cliff’s edge and shot into the distance, landing a dozen seconds later with a crash on one of the dark isles in the magma rivers.

The hunt begins now. His features hardened under his helmet. Now then, how do I go about this?

He found himself a bit stumped at that question, alas there was no going back now with his target being present. Perhaps I’ll have to resort to … that.